


The Queen Upon Her Throne

by Laylah



Category: Radiant Historia
Genre: Bondage, Community: kink_bingo, F/M, Rape Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-10
Updated: 2011-06-10
Packaged: 2017-10-20 07:06:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/210059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laylah/pseuds/Laylah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That image proves a balm for his inflamed pride, and Dias lingers over it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Queen Upon Her Throne

"This once," Protea says, lounging on her throne and arching a manicured eyebrow at Dias over the top of her fan, "I will excuse your failure. Do not abuse my generosity by disappointing me again."

Dias grits his teeth, bowing stiffly. "Thank you, your majesty," he says. If only Selvan were here; he has far more patience for the fawning lies that have become a necessity in Protea's court. He would stay and recite platitudes until she felt mollified, until she had become properly docile. It is all Dias can do to spit out a terse, "By your leave," before he turns on his heel to march back out again. Protea will still be fuming when Selvan returns from meeting with his troops, and that will be a sorry welcome home—but better that she fume than that she erupt, which she certainly will if Dias speaks to her plainly.

He stalks through the corridors of the palace back to his own apartments; he is in no fit state for company right now. That wench has grown ever more unmanageable since she took the throne, as if she has forgotten—as if she never truly understood—to whom she owed her good fortune in the first place. _Her_ generosity, indeed. Dias flings open the door to his private rooms, and stops himself only with an effort from slamming it behind himself.

There is a decanter of rich Cornet wine on the side table, a memento of the last time Selvan was here. Dias helps himself to a glass; he's certain Selvan left it behind for just such an occasion. Protea is a boorish, graceless wench, a constant trial of Dias's patience. If she's so enamored of the throne, he thinks savagely, then let her have it for her pillory.

That image proves a balm for his inflamed pride, and Dias lingers over it: their haughty puppet queen, stripped of her pilfered finery and made a spectacle. Her decadent gowns torn to strips, then used to bind her to the very symbol of the power she abuses. Let her hold court like that if she will, still crowned yet with her arms laced tight behind her back, her white thighs lashed to the arms of the throne—holding her spread open, forcing her to display the assets that won her Victor's favor in the first place. How fitting it would be—how very much that image is the truth of her reign. Dias removes his gloves, unclasps his cloak and sets it aside. When Selvan comes home perhaps Dias will describe this fantasy to him, demand it as the capstone of the future they're building.

No; he will calm himself before then. He will not insist on a public, vulgar display. They must never appear so petty and selfish as Protea does now, must never stoop to such tawdry displays. But he can savor it here, in his mind. Arrogant Protea, helpless; would she curse them, threaten them, plead for another chance? Would she struggle against her bonds if they chose to use her, or would she recognize the futility of the effort and lie passive? Perhaps a rope around her throat, too, is called for, to set the cost for resistance too high. He pictures her trembling, furious, her pride demanding that she fight when to do so would cause her harm. It would be sweet to take her then, to torment outthrust breasts she had no way to cover, to sink into her and feel the tremors in the straining tendons of her thighs.

His earlier frustration has all but vanished now, replaced by the pleasant ache of desire. Dias glances at the mantel-clock. It shouldn't be too long before Selvan returns; perhaps, if he also has to bear Protea's posturing in the wake of shepherding her kingdom for her, he might enjoy the thought as well. Dias pours a second glass of wine to let it breathe while he waits. They can savor the image together.


End file.
